


The Royal Sonesta Incident

by deutschtard



Series: The Dancer and the Doctor [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other, Past Sexual Assault, Stripper AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschtard/pseuds/deutschtard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will heads down to the harbor, as they'd agreed, for the first night of this "trial basis." Things don't go *quite* as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Royal Sonesta Incident

**Author's Note:**

> And finally, I have inspiration for this fic again. I'm sorry it's been so long! But I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Songs used are "When I Grow Up" by the Pussycat Dolls and "I'm a Slave 4 U" by Britney Spears

_Boys call you sexy_

_and you don't care what they say_

_see every time you turn around_

_they screaming your name_

_now I've got a confession_

_when I was young I wanted attention_

_and I promised myself that I'd do anything_

_anything at all for them to notice me_

     

      The song pounded in his ears as he took the bus down to the harbor, and the Royal Sonesta loomed down the street. Even though Will couldn't see it, he knew it was there, like it was calling to him, it had an aura that radiated from it, making it stand out while blending in perfectly--much like the man he was on his way to see. It was a large building, reminiscent of some sort of factory, now turned into one of the most luxurious hotels in the city.

      He'd tried to dress up a bit, because he'd heard rumors of there being a dress code to even get in the door, like those expensive restaurants who required a dinner jacket. His nicest outfit was a plaid shirt with a striped tie, tied with a four in hand, and a dark tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches. He didn't have dress slacks, just a pair of chinos, and he hoped they wouldn't turn him away.

      The concierge at the front desk sneered at the music that could be heard from the earbud that hung out of his ear down by his chest. Immediately, Will fumbled in his pocket for his iPod and turned it down. "I um, I'm looking for a guest."

      "Room number?" The man said, voice flat, bordering on angry.

      "I-I don't know," an annoyed sigh from the concierge had Will quickly scrambling to avoid a lecture, "His name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, he...he should be expecting me."

      At mention of the name, the concierge typed it into the computer, and Will was thankful that he didn't have to look at him for a moment. "Ah, yes, he left instructions to let you up," the distaste in the man's voice was palpable, it nearly slapped Will, leaving a warm, sticky feeling on his cheek, which he rubbed at absentmindedly, "Room 624."

      "Do I need a room key or anything?"

 _"No_ ," the concierge snapped, "Have a good evening, and thank you for your visit," the words were enough that, if Will gave half a shit, he could have reported the man. But the manager probably wouldn't have listened to him, not in this clown suit. Heading towards the elevator, he turned his music back on to psyche himself up.

_I know I may come off quiet, I may come off shy_

_But I feel like talking, feel like dancing when I see this guy._

_What's practical is logical. What the hell, who cares?_

_All I know is I'm so happy when you're dancing there._

 

      He had to chuckle at the song playing in his ears right now, "Thanks," he mouthed to the music. Alone in the elevator, his hips moved to the beat, eyes closed as the floors went by much too quickly. His palms were sweating, so was he, as the song came to a close with him standing just outside the elevator. Will knew he needed to calm down, this wasn't going to be the night he died, he tried to make himself sure of that fact.

      This would be fine, it was a hotel, which wasn't exactly public, but Hannibal didn't seem like the the type to kill someone. Well, at least if he _was_ that sort of person, he wouldn't do it in a hotel. Something told Will he would consider that disrespectful. A choked laugh crawled up his throat as he wrapped the earbuds and shoved them in his pocket. "I'll be okay."

      He shot a quick text to Alana, "If you don't hear from me by 10am tomorrow, call the police. Love you - Will."

      As he started down the hallway towards the room, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

      "If you're dead tomorrow, I'll revive you to yell at you, then kill you again myself for being so dumb."

      At least he ended up at Dr. Lecter's door with a smile on his face. "Nothing to it, right? It'll be fine." His shaky hand raised to knock, but he heard movement in the room, and on the second rap of his knuckles, the door opened.

      Dr. Lecter didn't look any different. His suit was bright this time, a pale blue with a yellow tie, matte paisley against a silky background. He found himself transfixed by the pattern, having to shake himself back into reality when he heard "Good evening, Will."

     "Dr. Lecter," he responded, swallowing audibly. 

      The doctor smiled, "You're anxious, that's normal. I understand. Please, come in. Let me do whatever I can to make you more comfortable here." 

      This wasn't a hotel room, it was an entire en suite. Will no longer doubted that Hannibal would be able to pay for his college expenses if he eventually agreed to this proposal. It was definitely more expensive a room than Will would probably ever be able to afford. He was a little mystified by the class that exuded from every corner of the room. Even though this wasn't Hannibal's home, it already felt like this entire place was _his_. "I'm not...I'm not late, am I?"

     "No, Will," he said with a smile, "You're right on time."

      The fabrics were complex, Persian rugs, floral upholstered sofa and chairs, and _chandeliers_. He knew he clashed with the room, and now he was _definitely_ feeling underdressed, not that he could have possibly dressed right for this place. "Christ," he huffed under his breath.

      Hannibal heard him. "Is there something wrong, Will?"

    "No, no," he hastily covered for himself, "This just...I've never really seen any place this nice."

      A reserved smile curled the doctor's lips, "I felt that, for our arrangement, the hotel evenings should take place in rooms more reminiscent of a home, and less of a large bedroom. After all, I am asking you to dance, you are not a prostitute."

Will's cheeks flushed and he cast his eyes down, which he knew let Hannibal stare at him. "Perhaps I will purchase you a proper dress shirt, Will, one that will go much better with that tie."

     "I um, I didn't," he hesitated, "I thought--"

     Hannibal interrupted, a hand on his shoulder, "You're fine. I'm trying to offer a gift, you would look nice in a crisp blue shirt. It would bring out your eyes,"

     That didn't really help Will feel any less uncomfortable right now, "Th-thank you...I ah, I'm sorry I'm underdressed."

     "I don't care what you're wearing right now, Will," the pregnant pause felt like it was crushing him, forcing him to sit down in the chair right behind him. Hannibal let him, smiling, "Do you still want to order room service?"

     His eyes snapped up to meet the doctor's, maroon--which always struck him as odd--and he gulped, "Yeah, yes, i-if you don't mind."

     "Will, if I minded, I would not suggest it." He had a point, Will reasoned, as he was handed the menu, "Order whatever you like."

     "Are you sure? I mean, some of this stuff is," he balked, triple digits screaming up at him in bold letters that he was out of his league, " _really_ expensive."

      Another smirk crossed Hannibal's lips, "I'm quite sure. Whatever catches your eye. Next week, if you would rather I not spend so much money, I could cook for you."

      His cheeks must have been vermilion by now, "You can cook? I...I guess that would be okay, as long as you don't poison it," Will couldn't seem to stop the words before they were already out there, "not that I think you would, but--"

      "I know," another interruption, another smile, "I'll bring a hotplate and cook in front of you, if you'd feel more comfortable with that."

      All Will could hear was Alana's voice in his ear, warning him about this, that and the other, that Hannibal was a dangerous man he should stay away from. He couldn't listen to her, though, because he had always been good at reading people well, and he didn't get that from him at all. He seemed genuine, like this was honestly something he wanted, and was willing to do.

      "Okay,"

*   *   *   *

      The filet mignon medallions were so tender they nearly melted in his mouth, and he couldn't help the little moan that had escaped his lips at the first bite. Now, utterly full, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to do any dancing with his stomach so stuffed.

      "Did you enjoy your meal?"

      "I really did, I don't think I've, um, ever had anything that good." Will conceded, which made Hannibal smile. Even though they were in a suite, not in his own home, he cleaned up the dishes, washing them in the sink.

      "Come, dry with me."

      Will did as he was told, picking up a towel and drying. They didn't speak, and it was nice. It felt normal. As strange a situation he was in right now, this felt safe, like he was supposed to be here, and the little Alana who had been warning him throughout the night to be careful seemed much quieter in his mind. They stacked the dishes on the counter in silence.

      Hannibal reached over him to put a cup down, "Apologies," and suddenly they were close, too close, their chests were basically touching, and Will couldn't close his mouth or regulate his breathing. "Will, are you all right?"

      "I-I'm fine..." he breathed, hesitantly putting a hand on Hannibal's chest. The man didn't move away, and Will could feel his heart beating under his palm, it was calm and steady, a slow moving river compared to the rushing rapids of Will's own heart.

      "Will," his voice was different now, somehow, darker, but it wasn't lust. Will had heard lust on many people, ones with sticky fingers and sweaty, disgusting auras. But Hannibal's voice...he couldn't put a finger on it, but he had to look him in the eye, see if he could read something, glean anything that would explain.

There was a hunger there, it almost frightened him, "Will," he said again, this time it was softer, still full of that darkness, but smoothed over somehow, and before Will could formulate a sentence, his face was impossibly close, "Would you like me to kiss you?" Will couldn't even say no, head nodding dumbly before he even thought about it.

      He could still taste wine on Hannibal's lips as he cautiously returned the kiss. It was too easy to lose himself in it, but the hand on the side of his neck, thumb on his cheek sent a jolt through his body that woke him up in a most unpleasant way, and he jumped back, back pressed against the far wall. "I-I can't, I--"

      "No, Will, I'm sorry. That was... too much. I overstepped my boundaries, and I misread signals," an obvious lie, even Will knew that, "I jumped to conclusions, and it will not happen again.

      "I have to go, I've--I've got to go," he was already grabbing his satchel from the floor and heading for the door. Even though all he wanted to do was run away now, he found it strange that Hannibal wasn't following him, which almost made him stay.

     "Very well." was all he said.

      He was out the door and down the street in the cool night air before he could realize what he was doing, pausing to gulp the frosty air into his lungs. "Shit, shit _shit_ , you're so _stupid!_ _"_ he cursed himself, smacking the heel of his palm against his forehead, "Why couldn't I say no?"

 

*     *     *     *

      Alana was in a robe, obviously tired, but her eyes burned with a clarity, "I told you he was bad news, get in here," she said, arms open wide as Will collapsed into her arms. "What happened?"

      " _Nothing_ , that's just... I let him kiss me and then..."

      She wasn't sure where Will was going with this, closing the door with her leg as she held him close in the foyer, hand stroking his hair, quietly shushing him. "It's okay."

      "No, he-- his hand. On my neck and I just ran out of there, and I'm so _stupid_ Alana,"

      "No," her voice was authoritative, "Will you are not stupid for not being able to handle that. After what you went through, I'm surprised you didn't punch him."

      That got Will chuckling through his shaky breaths, calming down. They stood there in silence for a while as the clock ticked, the metronome cadence centering him, "I'd really like some tea."

      "I'll have to charge you extra, slick,"

      Another chuckle, "Sure."

      Chamomile felt nice in his stomach, calmed his frazzled nerves as he told her about the whole evening while she rubbed small, gentle circles on his back. She offered her couch for the night, and he took her up on it. He'd left enough food and water out for his dogs, and the heat was on, he could stop by in the morning, he didn't have classes until after noon.

     "You'll be okay, Will. It's fine, I promise, you did the right thing."

     "I just. I can't help feeling like I walked out on the best opportunity of my life. Like I left something important back there, and I won't be able to get it again."

      Alana let out a slow sigh and pulled him into her chest, "Will I'm not psychic or anything, but I can tell you that whatever you walked out on there, it wasn't the best opportunity of your life. You're going to find something much better."

      Will looked up at her, brushing her hair out of her face, "How do you know?"

     "Because, dumbass, I know."

    "Oh, all right, I'll just believe you then," he said, sarcasm dripping.

     "You'd better. If you don't believe me, you don't get my couch," she shoved him playfully as she stood up, "I'll go get you some PJs."

 

*    *     *     *

      Hannibal didn't show up Thursday. Or Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. Will began to feel like he'd been right about being wrong for rushing out like that. In over a year, Hannibal had never missed a dance, and he'd now missed an entire week's worth.

      His dancing began to suffer by Saturday, and Crawford noticed, calling him into his office Sunday afternoon to have a talk with him.

      Will sat there quietly as he was lectured, tracing the lines of wood grain on Crawford's desk with his eyes, trying to make shapes out of them. He wasn't listening to Jack, he knew the man was right, whatever he was saying.

     "I said, what do you have to say for yourself?" the man snapped, breaking Will's concentration.

     Without thinking, he responded, "Do you have Doctor Lecter's phone number?" 

 

*    *    *    *

      The phone felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, he dialed half of the number ten or fifteen times before finally making it all the way through all seven digits.

     "Good afternoon,"

     "Doctor Lecter, I--"

     "I am currently unavailable, please leave your name, number, and a short message after the tone. I will return your call at my earliest convenience."

     Will's heart sank, and he nearly hung up for a moment, "D-Doctor Lecter, it's...It's me. I mean, It's Will, Will Graham, from FBI? I um. You haven't been in, and I was just..." but he clammed up, "This was stupid. I'm sorry for bothering you."

      Dammit. Something was wrong with this whole situation, but he knew, logically, he had to talk to Hannibal about this. Crawford was about ready to make him take some forced time off, and he couldn't afford that. He had to sort this out.

     The phone's vibration nearly made him drop it, and he recognized the number as the one he'd just dialed. He couldn't answer it, he _couldn't._ All he could do was stare at it until it vibrated again, chiming that he had a voice mail.

      After what felt like an hour of arguing with himself, he called his inbox.

      "Will," the voice was unmistakable, "I felt that, after the incident Wednesday evening, you would rather not see me at the club. I thought it beneficial to let you have time to think the situation over yourself. If you would like to talk, please return my call. I would be happy to let Alana sit in and mediate, if it would make you more comfortable. I do hope to hear from you soon."

      He stared at the phone for a minute, two minutes.

     "Will?" Alana's voice startled him.

     "Sorry, I..."

     "What are you going to do?" She didn't even need to be told who he'd called, what they'd said.

      Will swallowed his fear, looking her directly between the eyes, "I'll call him tomorrow." He was pleasantly surprised that she nodded at him and left, no judgement, no warnings. She trusted him, even if she didn't trust Dr. Lecter.

      Will only hoped he could trust himself.


End file.
